Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights
by Bex-chan
Summary: One of them is desperately trying to remember their past while the other is forever trying to escape theirs. It's seven years after the war and Draco has managed to avoid almost everyone from Hogwarts, living a lonely life on a small island, far away from the wizarding community. But a familiar face in a cafe window capsizes his world into chaos. Dramione. EWE. Memory fic.
1. The Double-Take

A/n: Hello! This my new fic and I'm really excited! Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and comments for Isolation, and I hope you enjoy this one too! Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing! Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Literally nothing.

Song recommendation: **Black Lab - **_**This Night**__._

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**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

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_Yesterday's just a memory, tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be ~_

Bob Dylan

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Chapter 1: The Double-Take

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Draco's eyes fluttered open, squinting against the rays of sun slipping past his curtains into his room. Groaning to himself, he checked the clock and frowned when he saw that it was almost eleven. So much for his seven-time promise that he would sort out his sleeping pattern.

He stretched his arms above his head and sluggishly left his bed, pulling on yesterday's t-shirt as he headed to the window and drew back the curtains. The garish light struck him blind for a moment, but then he was looking out at the vast carpet of sea, broken up by the nearby isles of Tresco and St. Martin's.

It was calm today; calmer than it had been for several weeks. So calm that he could barely hear the familiar sound of waves beating the shore by his house.

Smothering a yawn and stretching out the ache in his spine, he paid the landscape no attention; he simply checked the sky for clouds. It was clear. Completely clear. The sky was so blue he couldn't see where it blended with the sea.

_Shit. _

He'd told himself he would venture into town today if the weather was decent, and now he was regretting that notion. But he needed to. The milk in the fridge was practically cheese, and he'd been trimming mould off his bread for the past couple of days.

Twisting his head until his neck clicked, he dressed himself in a loose pair of shorts and decided to change into a fresh t-shirt at the last minute. As he left his bedroom and descended the stairs, the sounds of his footsteps echoed in the emptiness of his home.

Sometimes the constant stillness and absence of noise irked him. Sometimes it even woke him in the night. The rest of the time it was his only comfort; his best friend.

An owl was waiting at the kitchen window when he went downstairs, tapping impatiently against the glass until Draco opened the window, and the bird practically spat the mail into his hand.

He shuffled through the usual junk: two bills and the standard monthly owl from the Ministry reminding him to contact Shacklebolt and confirm that he was still in the country. Rolling his eyes, he toyed with it with agitated fingers, crinkling the edges of the envelope as he tried to decide if he should walk or Apparate into town.

That was the handy thing about living on the Isle of St. Mary's: everything was somewhat close. The island itself was only two-and-a-half miles across, but Draco lived on the other side of the island from its largest town, Hugh Town. Despite the Island's small area, his five-bedroom cottage was substantially secluded, tucked away in the North-East corner without a neighbour within a half-mile radius. That was the main reason he'd chosen the house. As for why he'd chosen to live on St. Mary's in the Isles of Scilly, it was the furthest he could get away from London without leaving the UK and without having to freeze to death in Scotland.

Additionally, with a population of less than 1,700 (and only another 500 on the neighbouring islands), the Isles of Scilly were quiet, especially as most of the people living here were retirees. Also, and he'd never thought he'd say this, but the fact that only Muggles lived in the archipelago was a huge benefit. In the six years that he'd lived here, he hadn't once encountered another magical being. According to some records he'd acquired back when he'd been looking to move house, he'd read that no wizard or witch had lived on the Isles of Scilly since 1904, and that fact had really been the deciding factor in his decision to move to St. Mary's.

There was no Floo Network, no secret magical establishments, nothing. And that was exactly what he wanted.

He didn't feel any particular attachment to the place he had lived for six years; it was purely a matter of convenience. Nobody here knew him. Not one person on the island knew about the things he had done, and he had learned in that first year after the war that anonymity was preferable to infamy. It was so much easier to be invisible.

So that was what he had done for the past six years, and it was what he intended to do until he had served his sentence.

He kept himself to himself and barely left his home, simply counting down the days of his twelve-year punishment until he could finally leave England and head to Paris, where his mother had bought several properties not long after Lucius had been sent to Azkaban back in his Sixth Year.

Only five more years of solitude to go.

Excellent.

The only downfall to his isolated home was the tourists; during the summer months, they invaded the islands like a plague of flies. They were the main reason for his reluctance to venture into town, but it was a chore that he had ignored for long enough.

Heading to the back room to check on Aetos, he petted his faithful eagle owl absently and pulled out one of the standard Ministry check-in cards, tapped his wand against it, and attached it to Aetos' leg.

"There you go, boy," he mumbled. "Just the usual. Go to the Ministry and let them know I haven't tried to escape."

The bird took off East, towards London and the Ministry. The check-in card was merely a formality with a code that was signature to Draco and his wand, but there was a tracing spell on Aetos to ensure that the card had indeed been sent from within the UK. Occasionally, they would send an Auror to do an unannounced check, perhaps every three months or so, and they would search his house, check for any indications of Dark Magic, and then ask some standard questions, like if he'd been in contact with any ex-Death Eaters, if he'd heard from any of the Death Eaters still wanted by the Ministry, et cetera, et cetera.

Several times, Draco had considered how easy it would be to just jump the sea and stay in France for a few days, but it wasn't worth the risk. If he got caught outside the UK, he went straight to Azkaban for three years, and then he would be confined to the UK again for another twelve years. It was easier to just keep his head down and get on with it. So that's what he did.

Finishing his tea and deciding that he didn't feel like a two-mile walk today, he gathered his wallet and his wand and then Apparated to a small wooded area just outside of Hugh Town, knowing from experience which area would be safe and free of Muggles. From there, it was a two minute walk into the town, and he could feel the sun breathing against his neck as he strolled the familiar footpaths and shortcuts, wrinkling his nose as the stench of stale lager and cigarettes scratched at his nose.

It was almost the end of August, which meant the majority of the infuriating tourists had disappeared, but the lingering aftertaste of hen nights and regurgitated cider hung in the air like a thick, choking smog, and it would do for a few more weeks. The closer he got to Hugh Town, the stronger the stench became, and he decided to cut through a park, if only because he knew the scent of honeysuckle might save his sense of smell for a few minutes.

Despite the end of the tourist season, when he got to the park, there were still plenty of people taking advantage of the warm weather. It was mainly families with picnics, a few young couples scattered about, apparently oblivious to the crowd around them as they indulged in eating each other's faces, and Draco made a point to scowl at a few of them.

He continued on his way into town, walking along Hugh Street and intentionally avoiding eye contact with the pedestrians, locals and tourists alike. Swerving this way and that to evade sticky children with dripping ice creams and naive couples who were apparently permanently joined at their hands, he headed for the local supermarket. Before he entered, he braced himself for the inevitable nightmare that he was about to face once he stepped over the threshold.

He ducked inside quickly, keeping his head low as he grabbed two baskets, but unfortunately the shop was quiet, and that irritating bell above the door announced his arrival.

"Oh! Mr Malfoy!"

Draco grimaced. "Mrs Fletcher."

"We haven't seen you for weeks," she said from behind the counter. "My David and I were getting concerned. We were debating whether or not to go to your house and see if you were still alive."

"Well, as you can see, I am perfectly fine, Mrs Fletcher."

Mr and Mrs Fletcher, or David and Florence as they often insisted they be called, owned this little supermarket and also a gift shop on the other side of town. Both in their early sixties, they had lived on St. Mary's for over twenty years, having moved here once their children had left home. Their two children were called Christopher and Meggie, and both now lived not too far from London; Christopher was a solicitor and Meggie was a primary school teacher. The Fletchers had a golden retriever called Shandy, a budgie called Timothy, and two Guinea pigs named Salt and Pepper. Mrs Fletcher enjoyed pottery, crocheting, and had recently started yoga, while Mr Fletcher was more partial to fishing, sailing, and stamp collecting.

Draco knew all of this useless information because both Mrs Fletcher and her husband found it necessary to engage him in conversation every time he entered their supermarket. Why? He had no idea. He had made it blatant to both of them that he had little interest in their lives, or indeed the lives of anyone on the island. Nevertheless, the couple insisted on sharing anecdotes with him whenever he set foot in their supermarket, so much so that Draco suspected he could write both of their biographies in detail.

Even now, as he hid himself among the aisles, selecting the items he needed, Mrs Fletcher continued to talk to him, raising her voice so that it carried all the way to the back of her shop, like a bloody banshee.

"We were really getting worried!" she went on. "I know you don't come into town often, but I haven't seen you in...oh, about eight weeks? Since the tourists started coming, really. Speaking about the tourists, it's been a fantastic year! You know Charlie who owns the fish and chip shop by the bay? Well, he reckons that he made double what he did last year, and when you think about the strange weather..."

Draco sighed and shut out her ramblings as best as he could. He was used to this routine now; he'd been doing it for the last six years. As Mrs Fletcher wittered on and on about...whatever, he carried on shopping, selecting the same items he did every trip. Just necessities. Nothing interesting, nothing new. Bread, milk, pasta, soup, cheddar, meat, whiskey, etc. He always purchased enough to last at least a month so he could keep his trips to town to a minimum. Despite his past, even Draco Malfoy could acknowledge that whichever Muggle had invented the freezer had been a genius.

"...And I told my David that we should consider expanding, you know. Maybe open up another gift shop. I know we're not getting any younger, but I really enjoy running our businesses. It's so lovely getting to meet so many people, and I think we could..."

The bloody woman could blether for Britain. It really was ridiculous. A headache had already begun to fester at the back of his brain.

Placing down his two full baskets near the counter, he returned to the front of the store and collected another two.

"I'm assuming you'd like this all to be delivered this evening, as usual?" asked Mrs Fletcher.

"As usual," replied Draco.

"Well, we won't be able to deliver this evening, I'm afraid. David and I promised George and Robert we would head to Tresco tonight. You know, they're raising money for-"

"Right," he interrupted. "I'll take one bag home and you can deliver the rest tomorrow, then. If you could separate the milk and bread."

"Not a problem! You know, I was chatting to Ellie Tanner earlier, and she was saying that the hotel has been busy for the entire tourist season! She was saying she wouldn't mind expanding, too. She was thinking about opening a pub or..."

_Fucking hell._

Draco rushed to finish, chucking in his final bits and pieces with little consideration. He was so desperate to remove himself from the situation before his headache turned into full-blown migraine.

Satisfied that he could survive on what he had a selected for a month, he reluctantly headed for the counter, knowing that this would bring on the worst.

"All done, Mr. Malfoy?" she smiled.

"That's why I'm at the till," he frowned.

Now came the painstaking wait as she totalled up his shopping, pausing between items to, of course, talk. He had heard of these Muggle machines called self-service checkouts, and he couldn't wait until they finally made their way to St. Mary's. Placing his four full baskets on the counter, he tapped his foot impatiently as she slowly pulled out items and hit the buttons on the till.

"You know, I'm not sure I'd like another gift shop, though," she continued, oblivious to Draco's rolling eyes. "I was thinking it would be nice to try something different. Perhaps a cafe or something, like Tess. Her Kavorna Cafe is doing very well."

"Brilliant," he muttered.

"Oh! Speaking of the Kavorna, my David was in here about five minutes before you came in and he saw our new neighbour! Or neighbours...you know, I'm not sure, I'll have to find out. You know the cottage near...Oh wait, you probably don't know, do you? Since you've been hiding away for two months."

Draco stared at her jadedly. "Please, enlighten me."

He had long discovered that many of the people on this island were oblivious to sarcasm, so he really should have known better than to say that.

"Well, you know that lovely old cottage near Watermill Cove? The blue one? Someone finally bought it about a couple of months ago, and we've been waiting to see who it was. They arrived today. A man and a woman, both lovely apparently."

"How exciting," he said, his tone flat. "If you don't mind, Mrs Fletcher, I do have some other errands-"

"I don't think they're a couple, though," she went on. "My David said he only spoke to them briefly, but he was of the opinion that they were friends or brother and sister, perhaps. He said he's heard that only the girl is moving into the house, too. I guess it would make sense for her to bring a friend to help with boxes and everything. Apparently she's a lovely girl, very sweet, about your age-"

"Mrs Fletcher, I really don't-"

"What was her name again?" she murmured to herself. "Somebody did tell me...Grayson? No, that's not right. Was it Griffiths? No, no..."

"_Mrs Fletcher-_"

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed happily. "That was it! Granger."

Draco looked up from his shoes, his brow furrowed with interest.

Granger.

There was a name he had neither heard nor uttered in seven years. A curious knot of nerves tightened around his stomach, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. Granger was a common enough surname that he shouldn't have thought anything of it, and yet that knot of nerves just wouldn't quite leave him be.

"...just the nicest girl, apparently. I think I'm going to invite her round for tea once she's settled, maybe visit with a welcoming gift or something-"

"What's her first name?" asked Draco. "Do you know it?"

"Her first name? Oh, gosh, my David did say, but you know I'm so terrible with names-"

"Was it an unusual name?" He hesitated, uncertain if should say the next part. "Like Hermione?"

The name felt so foreign and lost on his tongue, like a bitter aftertaste of something he hadn't eaten in years. He knew he would chastise himself later for reacting in such a way to a seemingly insignificant coincidence, but it had been an instinctive response.

"Hermione?" echoed Mrs Fletcher, confused. "Can't say I've ever heard a name like that before. No, no, it was quite a normal name. Jane or something like that."

"You're certain?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she assured him. "I would remember a name like...what did you say before?"

He licked his teeth before he repeated, "Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Yes, I would remember an odd name like that, I'm sure. Anyway, I heard she's just a sweetheart. She's already won over my David, and I think-"

"How much is my total, Mrs Fletcher?"

"Oh...uh, eighty-seven pounds and twelve pence, please," she replied, still smiling. "That's including the usual bulk stuff you ask me to put by for you. You know, you really should consider-"

"Eighty-eight pounds," he said curtly, slamming the money down on the counter. The knot of nerves had dissipated and he was ready to leave. "Keep the change."

"Oh, thank you! I'll donate it to George and Robert's fundraiser-

"Yes, fine. I'll see you tomorrow evening with the rest of my things."

Snatching the bag he needed, he hastily exited the shop before Mrs Fletcher could even open her mouth again. Once outside, he again meandered his way through the crowd, eyes downcast and narrowed. Slipping out of sight down an alley, he checked his surroundings carefully before he Apparated home.

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* * *

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Back at his house, Draco did what he did every other day; he made himself some food and completed some necessary documents.

When his father had died, all the businesses that had remained in the Malfoy family for years had been passed on to him; but within three weeks he had relinquished almost all responsibility and left them to Lucius' old partner, Harold Kendrick. Despite this, Draco was still required by a Malfoy-drawn contract to approve certain deals and strategies.

After he had completed all his work and sent the papers away with Aetos, he would retire outside for a few hours with a book, and then he would go for a run. He wouldn't venture far; just a few miles along the isolated coastal path to Watermill Cove and then back to his house. He enjoyed running. He liked how everything was a haze of thudding; his heart, his feet, his head, all pounding like an army. Quidditch was hardly an option here, but he had realised early on that he needed some sort of physical exercise to distract himself from the empty evenings.

Sometimes he suspected that had he not taken up running, he would have either launched himself off the nearest cliff, or ended up in Azkaban by now.

He set off when the sun started to sink back into the sea, bathing the sky and water in explosive shades of orange, and it reminded him of war. Midges invaded the air just as the temperature dipped, and across the sea in the distance, he could see the lights of all the little houses in Tresco flicking on as families settled in for the evening.

It wasn't until he arrived at Watermill Cove just as the evening turned to dusk that he recalled the bizarre conversation he'd had with Mrs Fletcher. Sweat shimmered on his brow and his chest heaved with the exertion of his run, yet all he was aware of at that moment was how anxious he had been earlier, when Mrs Fletcher had said Granger's name. His eyes wandered over to the blue cottage on the other side of the cove, noticing that one of the downstairs windows was illuminated. A silhouette moved across the drawn curtains, but from where he was standing he couldn't even tell if the person inside was male or female.

Shaking his head and scowling, he reminded himself yet again that Granger was a common surname and that Mrs Fletcher had seemed certain that the newcomer's first name wasn't Hermione. So what was the problem?

_There isn't a problem. _

And there really wasn't. He could almost laugh at himself for being so idiotically paranoid. Nothing changed here on St. Mary's, and that was exactly why he loved and loathed it.

He nodded his head firmly to himself and wiped the sweat away from his temple.

Without a backward glance at the silhouette, he turned on his heel and jogged back home, calm and convinced that his irrational reaction had all been for nothing. He went to bed that night with not a single thought of Mrs Fletcher, Granger, or the little blue cottage.

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A/n: Hey guys! So this is the first chapter of my new multi-chap and I'm very excited about it! Thank you again for all the amazing reviews and responses to my other fics. I am so grateful and I hope you guys enjoy this one too! Let me know your thoughts!

Bex


	2. The Appearances

A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!

Song rec for this chapter: **You Me at Six - **_**When I was Younger**__._

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**Dark Water And Dying Eyebrights**

**~.~**

Chapter 2: The Appearances

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Just as he had yesterday (and the countless days before), Draco roused shortly after morning had ended, in the early hours of the afternoon. The sun was powerful again today and it sliced through a gap in his curtains, the light shooting him right between the eyes. With the same lacklustre movements as yesterday (and countless days before), he left his bed with the expectation that today would be like every other.

It wasn't until Draco had sent away his check-in card to the Ministry and brewed his first cup of tea that he realised he had left his wallet in the supermarket. His sigh of frustration disturbed the tea's rising steam and echoed around the emptiness of his home.

He really didn't know if he could take another interaction with Mrs Fletcher; the very thought of it made his jaw clench. He was tempted to leave it and just mention it when Mr Fletcher delivered his shopping later, but Mrs Fletcher was one of the most air-headed people he had ever met, and his wallet was probably already lost down some drain. Less than a year ago she had misplaced his keys within one hour when he asked her to keep them with his shopping while he'd visited another shop in town.

It was times like this he considered buying a muggle telephone; with one call he could let the Fletchers know about his misplaced wallet. But he didn't have a telephone and would probably never get one. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that it was a muggle device, he just didn't like the idea of people being able to contact him as they pleased.

After a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to think of an alternative, Draco realised he would have to venture into town again, and another sigh pushed past his lips.

Tossing the remainder of his still-warm tea in the sink, he rushed upstairs to change his clothes. Grabbing his wand, he Apparated to the same spot as yesterday and made his way through the park towards Hugh Town.

The park was again littered with unwanted idiots; all the couples and tourists had apparently not moved since yesterday. The sun felt heavier on his pale skin today and he muttered a quick spell to shield himself from its glare.

As he walked along the path paying little attention to his surroundings, a flash of brown hair streaked across his peripheral vision, and he halted his tracks as a bizarre sense of recognition hit him. His eyes shot over, barely catching the side of a girl's face and her brown curls before she disappeared behind a cluster of trees. He stood completely still, watching as her red skirt followed her out of sight, and he couldn't breathe for a moment because the disbelief was overpowering.

_No, it couldn't possibly be_.

And it really couldn't. He had already been through all this last night.

No, it definitely hadn't been her. He was just spooked and it was all Mrs Fletcher's fault. Had that bloody woman not insisted on making conversation with him yesterday, he would not be acting so ridiculously. That stupid cow had him jumping around like a jittery deer during a simple walk in the park for crying out loud.

Realistically, how many girls had long, brown, curly hair? Looking around the park, lots of them. And he hadn't even seen the girl's face properly. Evidently this was just proof that he needed to sort out his sleeping schedule, get out of the house more often, and, most importantly, stop paying attention to anything Mrs Fletcher said.

He waited for a moment to see if the girl would emerge from the trees, but there was no sign of the brown hair or red skirt. Shaking his head, he carried on walking, trying to shrug away the shock and assure himself that the possibility of her being here was next to none. Still, he felt edgy as he made his way out of the park, like eyes were on his back where the sun had once been. Quickening his steps, he practically jogged out of the park, keeping his eyes low to avoid anymore unnecessary frights.

He practically hurled himself into the supermarket and that pesky bell above the door was ringing in his ears again.

"Oh! Hello, Draco. Are you alright over there?"

It wasn't Mrs Fletcher's voice this time. Draco cleared his throat and approached Mr Fletcher, relieved that it was him and not his wife. Not that Mr Fletcher wasn't annoying, he was just slightly more tolerable than his wife. He was the kind of man who was ideal for dressing up as Santa Claus at Christmas time; he had a plump belly, kind eyes, and a rambunctious laugh that caused his entire body to shake.

"Mr Fletcher-"

"Draco," he interrupted, grinning. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me David?"

Draco scowled. "You don't _have_ to tell me, you just do."

Mr Fletcher's laugh boomed around the shop like a siren. "You are a funny man, Draco! You do make me chuckle!"

"Believe me, it's not intentional," he grumbled. "Look, I left my wallet here yesterday-"

"You certainly did, young man! Florence did think about dropping it off at your house last night, but we know how much you like your privacy."

"So where is my wallet?"

"It's with Florence in the gift shop," said David, oblivious to Draco's rolling eyes. "After that whole kerfuffle with your keys, and you know how awful she felt about that, she decided she would make sure your wallet didn't leave her sight."

"Brilliant," huffed Draco.

"Honestly, she's been so nervous about losing your wallet, I practically had to talk her out of super-gluing it to her hand!" chuckled David.

"Right, I guess I'll have to go to the gift shop. Because we all know I enjoy spending as much time in town as possible."

"Hey, it's a beautiful day! You should go for a walk along the beach."

"I'd rather walk on a path of broken glass," he muttered, turning to leave.

"I'll deliver your shopping this evening around seven o'clock, Draco."

"Fine."

* * *

The walk to the Fletchers' gift shop was barely five minutes away, but it felt like five miles of hell as Draco was forced to deal with the public. He marched past the Kavorna Cafe, the Atlantic Hotel, the Bishop and Wolf pub, and all the other establishments that he rarely set foot in. Bumping shoulders with at least seven people, his already foul mood was getting worse with every second, and it was about to get so much worse.

"Hey, Draco!"

Draco growled and hissed _shit_ under his breath.

Timothy Miller was jogging towards him with the usual welcoming smile, his wet flip-flops smacking against his bare feet and making one of the most irritating sounds Draco had ever heard. Miller (or as he insisted he be called, Tim) was one of about twenty people on the island of a similar age to Draco, which according to Miller automatically made them friends.

Not bloody likely.

He worked for the lifeboat station on the island and also as a beach lifeguard. Born and raised on St Mary's, he was popular with the locals and tourists, particularly the hen parties. Draco suspected it was because he was usually shirtless. The shiny teeth, floppy hair, and constantly exposed abs were practically a magnet for the female tourists, and it didn't help that Miller was one of those eager-to-please types with too much time on his hands and not enough weight in his head.

To put it bluntly, Draco thought Miller was a bit of a prat. And he was a prat that seemed to think it was appropriate to initiate conversations with Draco whenever they crossed paths.

"Miller," greeted Draco reluctantly. "What do you want? I have things to do."

"Hello to you, too," said Tim, smiling like a fool. "I wanted to ask you something."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"I know the answer's going to be no."

"Come on, mate," reasoned Tim. "Just hear me out for a minute."

That was another thing that irritated Draco; Miller was one of those tossers who thought it was fine to call everyone 'mate' even if they absolutely were not your mate.

"Hurry up, Miller. I'm busy."

"Well, I know you like to keep yourself healthy and you like running-"

"Miller, you're turning creepy. Get on with it."

Tim laughed and brushed his floppy hair out of his eyes. "Draco, you are funny, mate!"

If one more person told him he was funny today, he was going to punch them. "Come on, Miller, I have things to do."

"Sorry," grinned Tim. "Look, we're trying to set up a sponsored run for charity and I was wondering-"

"No, not interested."

"Really? Oh, come on, Draco, it will be fun!"

"No, it won't," he replied. "I'm really busy."

"Okay," frowned Tim, though he somehow managed to still look friendly. "Well, I understand that, but perhaps if you-"

"I really am very busy right now, Miller."

With that, Draco turned and walked away, ignoring Miller's cheerful "Okay, Draco, see you soon!"

.

* * *

.

The Fletchers' gift shop, which was innovatively called 'Fletchers' Gifts,' also had one of those infuriating bells that announced every customer's arrival with a shrill, punctuating _ding_. It was that high-pitched ring that firmly fixed a pounding headache at the back of Draco's eyes.

He'd only been in the gift shop once before; it was a small, quaint establishment with the usual key rings, coasters, and other crappy souvenirs that tourists bought for their poor relatives. The till was right at the back, and there he could see Mrs Fletcher chatting merrily away with Tess Hobson, the owner of the Kavorna Cafe. The women paused their discussion as he made his way towards them, and he braced himself for the usual questions and chaos.

"Mr Malfoy!" exclaimed Mrs Fletcher. "Did my David send you here for your wallet?"

"He did," said Draco. "Where is it?"

"You know, I was so scared of losing it after I lost your keys! I haven't let it out of my sight! I was just telling Tess about it now, wasn't I, Tess?"

Tess nodded her head eagerly. "Oh yes. You know, Draco, she hasn't let it out of her sight."

Draco glared at the two women impatiently. Tess was the same age as Mrs Fletcher and the pair frequently met together to witter about anything and everything. It was commonplace for Draco to visit the supermarket for his shopping and be ambushed by the two old, overly inquisitive women.

"By the way, her name is Jean!" said Mrs Fletcher.

Draco's brow furrowed. "Who the hell is Jean?"

"Jean Granger! Our new neighbour! Remember? I told you yesterday. You asked me if her name was...oh, it began with an H...anyway, her name is Jean! I met her this morning. Oh, she's absolutely darling, Draco."

"She really is," Tess pitched in. "Completely adorable. She was in my cafe when I left. She's probably still there now."

"Fascinating," drawled Draco. "Can I have my wallet now?"

"Oh, yes!" said Mrs Fletcher, removing it from a drawer. "There you go!"

He practically snatched it out of her hand. "Right. Goodbye, ladies. You may continue solving all the world's issues with your natter."

"Draco, you really should stop by the cafe and meet Jean," said Tess.

"You really should," agreed Mrs Fletcher. "Even you would probably like her!"

"Highly unlikely," Draco replied over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

.

* * *

.

Relieved that he had accomplished his task and that his wallet was safely back in his pocket, Draco wasted no time in heading home. There weren't enough quiet spots around to safely Apparate, so he headed back the way he had come, intending to use the same alley he had yesterday.

Seagulls squawked overhead and the sounds of laughter drifted up from the beach as the sun continued to bear down on him like torture. He kept his eyes peeled for any other potential nuisances, especially Tim Miller who would likely attempt another round of dull discussion if he had the opportunity.

His earlier spook in the park was long forgotten as he walked by the familiar shops and services for the second time today. As the Kavorna Cafe came into sight, he watched a sunburnt middle-aged couple go inside. As he walked by, he peered through the cafe's large bow windows, and it was then he stopped walking.

There, as plain as day, was a face he had not seen for years.

And yet her name had been mentioned at least twice since yesterday. He had mentioned it himself. The very thought of her had plagued him on no less than two occasions in the past twenty-four hours.

But he had done such a good job of convincing himself that he would never see her on his island that even now, staring at her with wide eyes, he didn't believe it was her.

Because it couldn't be her. But it was.

It definitely was.

It was Hermione Granger.

She was right there, perched on a high stool and leaning her elbow against the table as she smiled wistfully down at her copy of _The Scarlet Letter_, her forefinger absently tracing the rim of her half-empty glass. Clad in a simple white blouse and a red skirt, and with her long brown curls falling over one shoulder, she looked so...normal. So normal that it made her appearance all the more bizarre to Draco.

She turned the page of her book and that movement jarred Draco back into the moment.

His awe and shock was quickly replaced with white-hot anger that prickled across his skin, burning more harshly than the sun. With an intensity and swiftness that can only really be achieved by rage, he stormed inside the cafe, almost knocking over the sunburnt couple as they tried to leave. His vision tunnelled, focusing on her and her alone. Charging towards her, he slammed down his hand on her table, causing her to jump and almost drop her book.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Two big brown eyes darted to him and they were round and scared, like a cornered deer. Warily, she closed her book and sat up straight, never once averting her startled gaze from his face.

"Excuse me?" she asked carefully.

"I said, what the hell are you doing here?" he repeated slower but more severely.

"Um...I'm just having a drink and reading..."

"Stop dicking around with me, Granger."

Her eyes widened. "You...you know my name?"

Her response staggered Draco for a moment. He stared more closely at her eyes, still finding fear and caution, but at the core of her gaze was blind confusion. There was no recognition there. Not even a little bit.

He took a step back. "Granger, what the fuck is going on?"

"Oh my God, you know me," she muttered to herself. "I'm sorry, I...I had a..." She hesitated and looked over his shoulder. "Harry will help explain."

"Oh bollocks," scoffed Draco. "Of course sodding Potter is here as well."

"You...you know Harry, too?" she asked, still looking past him. "Harry! Harry, can you come here please? Harry!"

Turning around to see where Granger was looking, Draco's attention was drawn to the cafe's counter. Even after seven years, he recognised the back of Potter's head immediately; he had spent so much time back in Hogwarts glaring at it. With tense shoulders and an expression that could silence thunder, Draco waited as Potter slowly turned around with two plates of scones in his hands. The look that instantly took over Potter's face was a combination of alarm and disbelief.

The scones and plates fell to the floor.

The smash drew the attention of all the customers in the cafe, but neither Harry nor Draco appeared to notice the twenty pairs of eye now focusing on them. There was a tight moment of nothing, and then it all kicked off.

With his broken scones disregarded, Harry approached Draco with purposeful, heavy strides. Without a word, he reached for Draco's arm, desperately trying to grab it. Standing his ground, Draco shook him off. The crowd in the cafe was now completely silent as the two men clumsily grappled with each other.

"Don't bloody touch me, Potter!"

"Shut up, Malfoy! Outside!"

"Harry, what on Earth are you doing?" asked Granger, jumping up out of her seat. "And how does he know us?"

"Sit back down, Jean," said Harry.

The fact that Potter had called her 'Jean' stunned Draco motionless for a second, and that mistake allowed Potter to get a decent grip on his arm. He tried to wriggle himself free, but Potter had latched onto him like a leech.

"Why the hell did you-"

"Jean, stay in here!" Harry interrupted, slowly dragging Draco out of the cafe. "You stay in here and I will be right back!"

Granger released an exasperated sigh. "Harry, what the hell is going on?"

"Just trust me! I will be right back."

Wrestling the entire time and ignoring the shocked gasps of the other customers, the two staggered out of the cafe into the street in a jumble of limbs and profanities. Even when they were outside, Potter continued to yank Draco's arm and through the window Draco could see Granger watching them, wringing her hands nervously. She disappeared as Potter pulled him out of sight down a small side street beside the Kavorna. They collided with a few bins and Potter stumbled, allowing Draco to tear himself free.

"You'd better have a good fucking reason for laying your hands on me like that, Potter! Because I swear-"

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" demanded Potter. "What _the hell_ are you doing _here_?"

"What the hell am _I_ doing here?" repeated Draco, seething. "I live here, you stupid prick! What the fuck are you and bloody Granger doing here?"

Harry took a deep, long breath. "You can't live here. I checked the records!"

"I've lived here for six years, Potter! Ask the bloody owner of the cafe. Now, back to my question; what the hell are you and Granger doing-"

"Did you call her Hermione?"

Draco faltered. "What?"

"Did you call Hermione by her first name?"

"When have I ever called Granger by her first name?"

Harry fidgeted anxiously, unable to stay still for more than a second. "You're certain? You're certain you didn't call her-"

"I'm bloody positive, I called her Granger," said Draco, studying the other man curiously. "Potter, what are you-"

"I checked to make sure no magical folk lived here!" he blurted. "I checked and it said no wizards or witches had lived here for years!"

"Yeah, well I've paid a lot of money to ensure that people don't know where I am, so how the hell did you and Granger find me? Did the Ministry tell you to come watch me?"

Harry's brow creased with confusion. "You think we're here to see you?"

"Aren't you?"

"No, of course not! Why would I be so shocked to see you if I knew you'd be here?"

Draco considered his reasoning. "Well, I'll ask again: What the hell are you doing here, Potter? Why were you calling Granger 'Jean'? And why the hell doesn't she know who I am?"

Harry dropped his head in his hands. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh God, this changes things. If I'd known, I wouldn't have...I can't take her somewhere else now...I can't..."

"Potter, what are you rambling about?"

"Look, Malfoy, you don't understand. Hermione's not...It's a very long story."

"Well, you're going to make some time to tell me that story because I want to know what the pair of you are doing here."

"You are in no position to tell me what to do, Malfoy."

"Oh really?" challenged Draco, pivoting on his heel. "Well I'll just stroll back inside and ask _Hermione _what is going on instead-"

"No, stop!" yelled Harry, shoving Draco backwards. "You can't do that to her, she's been through enough already and I will not let you ruin this! We've worked too hard!"

"Potter, if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, I swear I will march back in there and start a shit storm! This is your last chance!"

Panting slightly and clearly exasperated, Harry bowed his head in defeat. "Alright fine, Malfoy. Fine. I'll explain what's going on."

"Good."

"But I can't do it here and now. I just can't. It'll take too long and Jean...I mean, Hermione is sitting in there right now terrified because of you."

"You said you would tell me-"

"And I will," assured Harry. "Look, where are you living? I'll visit this evening and explain everything."

Draco scoffed coldly. "You think I'd let you in my house?"

"Oh come on, Malfoy, don't be so bloody childish."

"Well, what guarantee do I have that you're not just going to call up the Aurors and have me shipped off to the new prison up in the Shetlands?"

Harry looked to the ground. "The Aurors can't know I'm here."

Draco arched an eyebrow with interest. "Well, well, Potter. This is all very controversial, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. So if you want me to tell you what's going on, that's how it's going to have to be. It's not something I can tell you in public and I don't have the time to tell you now. It's that, or nothing, Malfoy."

Clenching his jaw, Draco rolled his eyes and spat out, "Just past Watermill Cove; the sign looks like it says the Lost Cottage, but it's actually called the Last Cottage."

"The Last Cottage," Harry echoed. "Okay. I will come by this evening."

"Make sure you do. And I want to know _everything_, Potter."

"You will."

Without a parting word, Draco turned his back on Harry and stalked out of the side alley, his head shambolic with confusion. Back on the main street, the world seemed louder and more intrusive now, like everyone was talking about whatever it was he didn't know. They eyes of the passers-by seemed to linger on him for a moment longer than necessary, and their mouths were curved in knowing, mocking smiles.

He didn't have a choice but to walk past the large window of the Kavorna cafe, the window that had caused all this hassle to begin with. Had he been focussed, he might have crossed the street, but she would have probably seen him anyway. She had, after all, been staring out of the window for the past fifteen minutes, nervously drumming her nails on the table and waiting.

Draco tried so hard to resist lifting his eyes, but it was a futile.

Gone was all the fear and apprehension from a few moments ago; now her eyes were practically sparkling with uninhibited intrigue. Her stare was unblinking and firm, fixed on him like a hunter's eye, and he couldn't turn away either. There was a softness in her expression, though; that innocent and somewhat childlike inquisitiveness that he remembered from Hogwarts.

He was almost beyond the stretch of the window and out of her sight when she slowly lifted her hand, curling her fingers in a delicate, uncertain wave. He didn't hear it, but he saw her mouth the word "Bye," her breath staining the glass with a subtle mist.

And then she was gone.

The window was replaced by a wall, and she was replaced by nothing.

He ran the rest of the way home, not trusting himself to Apparate.

.

* * *

.

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I am an actual functioning teacher and my weekend are taken up with soooooo much marking. I'm sorry, but this one's going to take me a while to update but I am working on it! Let me know what you think please!

Thanks

Bex


	3. The Ramifications

A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!

Song rec for this first chapter: **Bear's Den - **_**When You Break**_

~.~

**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

**~.~**

Chapter 3: The Ramifications

.

By the time the sun had tucked itself beyond the horizon and the moon was high and bright, Draco had almost worn away all the carpet in his house.

After his confrontation with Potter and Granger, he'd been unable to keep still. At one point he had contemplated going for a long run all the way around the island's coast, but the prospect of encountering his old school rivals again confined him to his home.

With nothing but the hours dragging by and his frustrations building with each slow minute, he had paced from room to room, channelling all his pent up energy on measly tasks and glaring at the wall. Never could he recall glancing at his clock as much as he had done in the last few hours.

The events of today were still raw in Draco's mind, scratching at his conscious like claws. The incident had replayed itself in his head repetitively since he had arrived home, and he had obsessively analysed and reanalysed every word that Potter and Granger had said, trying to garner any clues about their sudden appearances on _his _island.

His brain was swollen and aching with questions, and as time went on more questions came.

So, when he heard a knock at his door just after half seven, Draco leapt out of his seat and changed for the door, ready to tear Potter apart for inflicting these torturous thoughts on him. He grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open with such force that the whole house seemed to quiver with the bang.

"Where the fucking hell have you been?!" bellowed Draco, but his anger quickly faded to confusion.

Mr Fletcher stood on Draco's doorstep with two bags of shopping in his hands and a slightly terrified look on his face. "I...I'm sorry, Draco, I know I'm a little late, but I..."

"Calm down, Mr Fletcher," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "I thought you were somebody else."

"Oh. Oh, well you know, that's not a very polite way to answer the door, young man."

"It wasn't meant to be polite." He snatched the two bags out of the old man's hands.

"I've got two more bags in the car for you," said Mr Fletcher, tottering back to his car. The engine hummed and the lights illuminated the narrow road to Draco's home. "Are you expecting someone then?"

"I don't really see how that's any of your business, Mr Fletcher."

"Oh, I'm just being curious! I don't think I ever expected you to have a visitor! I know you're very private-"

"Is that the last of the bags?" interrupted Draco.

"Oh. Yes, sir," he nodded, smiling as always. "You know, I was chatting to Ben Gilbert earlier and he mentioned that there was some sort of incident involving you and the two newcomers in the cafe."

Draco rolled his eyes again and reached for the final pair of bags. "Did he now?"

"Yes. Ben wasn't the only one who mentioned it; actually, a few people in town were talking about it. You had some sort of…disagreement?"

"Well, it really must have made everyone's day to have so much drama."

Mr Fletcher grinned. "Well, you can't blame people for being a little bit curious. People are saying it was quite interesting-"

"Any little thing that happens on this island is _quite interesting_. If the mayor's cat takes a shit, it's top news. Are you here for an exclusive interview, or can I return to my business?"

"My apologies, Draco, I didn't mean to pry or anything, I was just..."

He trailed off to the sound of footsteps shifting the gravel of the road, and in the glare of the headlights walked Harry Potter, his shadow stretching out behind him. Unable to stop himself, Draco groaned at the inconvenient timing.

"Harry?" called Mr Fletcher. "Is that you?"

"Good evening, David."

Draco wasn't sure why but he didn't like that the two were on first-name terms already. "Right, Mr Fletcher, if there's nothing else-"

"Do you two know each other?" asked Mr Fletcher.

"Uh," stuttered Harry, nervously adjusting his glasses. "We used to."

"Well! Isn't it a small world?"

Draco's glare didn't leave Potter until he was on his doorstep. "Yes. Too small."

Without a word, he stepped to the side, allowing enough room for Potter to enter his home, which he did with a parting nod in Mr Fletcher's direction. With that, Draco turned back to the beguiled pensioner still standing there, as if waiting for an explanation.

"Right, Mr Fletcher," said Draco crisply. "I'm sure you're eager to toddle off home and divulge your information to your wife so she can broadcast it to the town. I will see you in a few weeks. Goodnight."

With that, he shut the door and stole a moment to groan before he carefully walked to his living room. Potter was standing beside the fireplace, his bespectacled eyes scanning the room like a prospective buyer, although Draco detected the nervous clenching of his old rival's fists and the thin film of sweat on his forehead.

"Your home is nice," said Harry.

"Shut up, Potter, you're not here for decorating tips."

"No, I mean it. It's more...Muggle than I expected, but then I guess you would have to make certain changes living in a Muggle area."

Draco glanced around the room. The decision to keep its appearance Muggle hadn't really been a conscious one; he had just never cared too much to make any changes after he'd moved in. There had been no point in setting up Muggle-repelling charms; the locals would have easily noticed if his house was suddenly transformed into something else. It was far less conspicuous for him to live without wards just in case any magical folk did turn up on the island.

All his magical items, with the exception of his wand, were kept in the utility room at the back of the house and the smallest of his five bedrooms. The rest of his house did indeed look Muggle, but having Potter point that out made him feel uncomfortable.

"You know why you're here, Potter. Get on with it."

"Right, yes," mumbled Harry. "Can I take a seat?"

"If you must."

Settling himself on leather sofa, Harry placed his fidgeting hands in his lap. "Right. Well...what is it that you want to know?"

"Why are you and Granger here? Are you staying? Why did you call Granger 'Jean'? And why didn't Granger recognise me?" he listed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Aren't you going to take a seat?"

"No, I'd rather stand."

"Okay then," said Harry, adjusting his glasses again. "Um...well, I guess you'll be happy to know that I am not staying here-"

"Good."

"I'll be leaving in about a few days. But Jean...I mean Hermione...she will be staying. She's moved into Watermill Cottage. That's her new home. I'm just helping her move everything."

"Right," Draco bit out. "And why the hell are you calling her Jean?"

Harry swallowed deeply. "Can I have a glass of water please? My throat-"

"Get on with it. I'm losing my patience."

"But, I-"

"_Now_, Potter."

"Hermione lost her memory," he blurted out. "There was an...an accident about eight months ago, and when she woke up from her coma two months later, she'd lost her memory. That's why she didn't recognise you."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "That doesn't explain why you're calling her Jean."

"Look, it's very difficult. Memory Charms are strange things-"

"Someone used a Memory Charm on her?"

Harry sighed deeply and looked at the floor. "Not exactly. Look, the point it is it can be difficult with Muggle-borns like Hermione. The Memory Charm that affected her essentially erased all her memories involving anything magical."

Frowning, Draco relented and took a seat in his armchair. "I've never heard of a Memory Spell that does that-"

"I told you, it's very complicated. Anyway, after this accident happened, she woke up in St. Mungo's with only her memories from before she found out she was a witch. Long story short, she woke up believing she was a Muggle and without any knowledge of the magical world. She thinks she had a fall and bumped her head and that's why she can't remember the last fourteen years."

"Couldn't you just try to reverse the spell?"

"Nothing had any effect. We're working on a treatment, but we're waiting for permission from the Indian Ministry to hunt for some ingredients over there. Anyway...it's difficult. When we realised that she believed she was Muggle we knew that...preparations had to be made."

"Preparations?"

"Well, yes," sighed Potter. "Do you not keep up to date with the Ministry or anything anymore?"

Draco shook his head. "I couldn't care less."

"Hermione was working for the Department of Magical Law, specifically with monitoring the Death Eaters in prison and also inspecting any leads concerning possible Death Eaters who had escaped after the War. There's some evidence that there could be at least thirty that were never imprisoned."

"I still don't understand why you're calling her Jean, Potter. Get to the point."

"Well, we had no choice. Do you realise how much danger Hermione would be in if a group of Death Eaters found out? If they found out that one of only three people who know all the security details of incarcerated Death Eaters had lost her memory and had no idea how to defend herself? She would be an instant target for torture to try and recover that information."

The question had crossed Draco's mind: Just why was Potter sharing this information so freely with him? Did Potter not associate him with the Death Eaters he kept mentioning? Because he could name a few people who probably still did. But still, he was too intrigued to interrupt.

"Surely Granger remembered her name? You said she only forgot the magical stuff."

Harry's sigh was heavier this time. "We had to cast another memory spell on her...just a small one so she thought her name was Jean."

"Fucking hell, Potter, you screwed with her memory even more? Why not just punch her in the head a few times and save yourself the magic?"

"Look, you don't understand!" shouted Potter, irate. "She'd forgotten everything! Me, Ron, everyone! She'd forgotten who she was and we just had to do what was best for her! We didn't want to screw with her memory more, but we had to think about her safety! Do you know many Hermione Grangers there are in Britain? Two. We checked. If we'd have let her keep her name, she would have been tracked down in a matter of weeks. Do you know how mean Jean Grangers there are in Britain? Approximately nine thousand."

"Okay," replied Draco, leaning forward. "Then why the hell did you decide she should live here? Surely if you want to keep her far away from the Death Eaters, somewhere abroad would make more sense."

"Too much paperwork. Plus, if I ever needed to Apparate to her in an emergency, I wouldn't be able to do that without permission if she was outside the UK. We chose St. Mary's because when we checked the records it was one of only two places in Britain where magical folk hadn't resided in almost a century."

"I know, that's why I decided to live here."

"Exactly. And here we are."

An accidental silence filled the space between them and Draco took the moment to go over everything that Potter had just divulged. Again, the question pestered him: Why was Potter telling him all this?

"You seem to have settled into Muggle life well, Malfoy," remarked Potter. "Having your shopping delivered and all."

"Is there a reason you keep on mentioning the Muggles, Potter?"

"I just find it interesting that you chose to live in a Muggle area when you hated them as much as you did."

Draco shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's easier to live amongst people you hate, than to live amongst people who hate you."

"So you still hate them then?"

"I tolerate them."

"So you-"

"The Muggles on this island are no more irritating than any witches or wizards I have met. At least the Muggles leave me alone. "

"Yes, I can tell," said Harry. "I can tell that you've changed, I mean. It's written all over you."

Draco shifted in his seat, feeling uneasy. "What the hell are you getting at, Potter?"

"I did a bit of research on you before I came to see you this evening."

Narrowing his eyes into thin, serpentine slits, Draco sat back and licked his teeth. "Do you have the authority to do that?"

"I'm Deputy Head of the Auror Department now."

"Of course you are."

Harry leaned forward. "Your check-in officer is Felicity Bagsthorpe, right? I called her earlier and asked about you and I have to say, I was rather surprised."

"What does this have to do with-"

"She spoke very highly of you, Malfoy; said you'd never so much as whispered a bad word to a Muggle or Muggle-born or put a toenail out of line." Potter tilted his head with thought. "She did say your attitude is generally sour and you are rude, sometimes cruel, but that you are like that to everyone-"

"You really do enjoy the sound of your own voice," drawled Draco, bored.

"And that you have three registered addresses under your name. On her official documents you are listed as residing in Malfoy Manor, but your mail has been diverted to this address for the past six years. That's why you didn't show up on the records when I searched for magical folk here. Your other address is in France, and she suspects you are keeping your head down so that your confinement to Britain goes smoothly and you can move to Paris as soon as your sentence is over."

Draco's slapped his hand together in a slow, sarcastic clap. "Top job, Potter. You put Sherlock Holmes to shame."

"She also revealed that when your Gringotts records were checked about a year ago that you had donated a generous sum to a post-war charity."

Balling his fists and sucking in the air through his teeth, Draco rose to his feet in a sharp, sudden movement that made his head swim. "You have no right to that information! Those details are confidential!"

"I am allowed to check certain things-"

"Bullshit, Potter! I may not be allowed to leave this shithole country, but I am entitled to my privacy!"

"I think she was trying to you a favour, Malfoy. And I want to do you a favour, too."

"You want to do me a favour? Get your ugly, fucking face of this island, and take Granger with you! Leave me the hell alone!"

"That's not a possibility," replied Harry, his hands fidgeting in his lap again. "We have spent the last six months making all these arrangements for Hermione. To leave and change everything now without an explanation isn't possible and it would make her so confused-"

"Granger's wellbeing is not my problem."

"It is now."

Draco stilled and fixed Potter with a fierce glare. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hermione's wellbeing is my main priority," said Potter steadily. "And if I think you will jeopardise that, then I will use my authority to have you removed from the island."

"You slimy piece of shit," spat Draco, his features contorted with rage. "You think you have the right to screw with my life? I've lived here for six years! _Six years!_ And you think you can charge in here-"

"I don't want to have you relocated, Malfoy. What I actually want is to offer you a proposition."

"You can stick your proposition so far up your arse you choke on it!"

"You have five years remaining of your sentence, correct?" Harry's voice was purposeful, his words slow. "What if I could reduce that to one year? Just twelve more months, and then you would be free to leave and go wherever you want. And you can keep living here for that year."

Draco's breaths left him in short, shallow spurts. "What?"

"I have the authority to shorten your sentence. And in return, I want you to keep an eye on Hermione while she's living here. I want you to let me know if at any point you notice anything suspicious that might indicate-"

"Excuse me? What are you - Are you taking the piss? You want me to _keep an eye on _Granger? Have you completely lost it?"

"I am being completely serious. And as I said, in return I will shorten your sentence."

Draco clicked his jaw. "And if I refuse your completely insane proposition?"

Harry cleared his throat. "You will be relocated."

"That's not a proposition, Potter. That's blackmail."

"It is what it is."

With his shoulders slumped and his movements weary, Draco dropped back down into his chair, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees. "Why on Earth would you trust me to keep an eye on Granger?"

"I don't trust you, but the alternative isn't favourable. There are only seven people that know about Hermione; eight including you. None of us are able to move here and watch her, so my original idea was to have one of the Aurors move here to monitor her."

"Then why don't you do that?"

"Again, more paperwork. Paperwork leaves a trail, and I'm not entirely sure I can trust everyone in the department. In fact, I know I can't."

"But, again, why would you trust me to do it?"

"Well, the first reason is I have leverage I can use against you which gives me some insurance."

"Careful, Potter."

"And I know you wouldn't do anything to harm her," Harry said confidently. "You might be a rude git, but you're not dangerous. And, as I said, I can tell you've changed, and Felicity confirmed that for me."

"I might not harm her, Potter, but I don't give a shit about her."

"You don't need to. You just need to keep your eyes open for anything or anyone unusual that could indicate that she is under threat. That's all I'm asking you to do."

Draco shook his head. "Don't make it sound so simple, Potter. We both know how curious Granger is, and I'm sure that the incident today made her very curious about me. She'd be bugging me with questions like a fly bugging shit." He paused and leaned forward. "What _did _you tell her after I left?"

"The truth to some extent; that we were all in the same school year, but you were a bully and we didn't get along."

"But, of course, Granger doesn't know about Hogwarts."

Potter dropped his head and sighed. "No, she believed she attended a Muggle boarding school in Scotland called St. Andrews. We had to fake some documents because we knew she would research it all. We also planted a few memories in the heads of the Muggles who work there, just in case."

"Jesus Christ, Potter."

"As I said, we had to make preparations."

Leaning back in his chair, Draco gripped the arms of his chair, his nails squeaking across the leather. "What other _preparations_ have you made?"

"I don't want to-"

"I want to know what I'm getting myself into here before I even consider agreeing to anything. Tell me."

Frowning in submission, Harry brushed away the sweat that gathered on his upper-lip. "Well, for a start, the people who know about her are myself, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Cho, and Cho's husband, Lucas."

"Why the hell-"

"Lucas is a Muggle, and we needed a Muggle who knew about the magical world. Now, we have no idea why, but when Hermione woke from her coma, all of her memories of magic had gone, except she remembered all the Latin from the spells. She can speak it fluently, although, to be fair, we don't know if she studied it anyway."

"I don't understand how this is relevant, Potter."

"Well, Lucas works as Plymouth University as the head of the Languages Department. Plymouth is the closest University to here; just over an hour once you get to the mainland. We asked for his help and he arranged for Hermione to have a job at the University translating Latin texts, which she can do from home. Again, we planted a few memories in the minds of staff members, and Hermione believes she has been working at the University for over three years."

"Fucking hell, Potter," groaned Draco. "How many people's minds have you screwed with?"

"A few more," he confessed, his voice tired. "We also had to tell her some of our names were different. Mine's the same because my name's pretty popular; there's over thirteen thousand Harry Potters in Britain-"

"Can't think of anything worse-"

"But we had to change the others. Hermione believes Ron and Ginny's surname is Williams, Neville's is Lane, and Luna's is Lewis. Cho took Lucas' last name, Roberts, so she was fine. We were worried that if Hermione spoke to the wrong people, names like 'Weasley' and 'Longbottom' would be picked up on very quickly."

"I'm not changing my surname, Potter. Besides, everyone on this island knows my last name."

"It wouldn't be necessary. Who would think for a second that Hermione would have anything to do with you? Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Yes, why a year exactly?"

"Well, I told you we're working on a treatment for her and we're waiting for the Indian Ministry. Neville is the one working on a potion to reverse the memory loss-"

"Longbottom's in charge?" scoffed Draco. "Granger's fucked."

"You really haven't been keeping in touch with the wizarding world, have you?" said Harry, his tone slightly smug. "Neville's the most prolific Herbologist in Europe right now. Eighteen months ago he created a potion that had a sixty-four percent success rate in breaking the Imperius Curse. He's confident he can create a potion for Hermione, he's just waiting for permission to get an ingredient from India; a plant called Eyebright. We get some species in Britain, but the one Neville needs only grows near the Himalayas."

"And what if Longbottom is unsuccessful after a year? Would I be expected to keep watching her?"

"No, I said one year. If Neville was unsuccessful, I would make other arrangements that didn't involve you. You would be free to go regardless of Hermione's condition."

Stretching his arms above his head and leaning back in his chair, Draco released a dry, mirthless chuckle. "This is completely fucking ridiculous."

"Is it ridiculous because you're actually considering it?"

Draco hesitated. The silence that swallowed up the room was a welcome one and Draco thought about everything he had learned in the last twenty minutes. He studied Potter with half-lidded eyes, focusing on the way his old rival's clammy hands were still clasped together in a tight nervous knot. Already sweat had gathered on his upper lip again and his eyes were darting everywhere, seemingly doing everything to avoid Draco's unflinching stare.

"What are you hiding, Potter?"

Harry jumped. "What?"

"You're hiding something. I'm pretty certain it's something to do with how Granger lost her memory seeing as you've been so vague about that part of your story."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."

"Yes, you do," hissed Draco quietly. "Yes, you do, and you are going to tell me right now. How did Granger lose her memory?"

After a pause Harry lifted his slightly trembling hand and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Can I have a glass of water now?"

"No."

"Please, Malfoy."

With a growl trapped in his throat, Draco rose from his seat and stalked towards his kitchen. "I'm having a whiskey."

"I'm fine with water, thanks."

"I wasn't offering you my whiskey, Potter."

In the soothing solitude of the kitchen, Draco pondered over Potter's 'proposition' again, weighing up all the potential benefits and difficulties that could come from the arrangement. The prospect of babysitting an amnesiac Granger and reporting back to Potter like some pathetic pet made him furious, and yet the possibility of having his sentence reduced to just one more year was painfully tempting. So tempting indeed.

He poured Potter's glass of water, prepared himself a whiskey, knocked it back with one desperate swallow, and then poured himself another.

Returning to the living room with both glasses in his hands, he slammed down the water on the coffee table beside Potter with a harsh _clunk. _Sinking back down in his armchair, Draco scrutinised Potter carefully as he practically lunged for his water and gulped down half of the glass. Pausing for a quick breath, Potter drank more, still doing everything he could to avoid Draco's penetrating glare.

"Are you trying to drown yourself, Potter? Normally I wouldn't object, but you've wasted so much of my time already."

"I'm just very thirsty."

"And I'm very impatient. Hurry up."

Setting the glass down and clearing his throat, Harry wiped another thin layer of sweat from his upper-lip. "Do you...do you know what happened to Hermione's parents during the War?"

Draco arched his eyebrow. "I vaguely remember reading an article in The Prophet a few weeks after the battle. Didn't she send them to Australia or something?"

"That article wasn't exactly reliable, but yes, she did. Long story short, Hermione wanted to ensure they were safe so she created a memory spell that would erase any memories that had anything to do with magic. So, all memories involving anything to do with the magical world, including Hermione herself, were completely removed, and then she planted a fake memory about them deciding to move to Australia."

"I really don't understand what this has to with Granger's memory loss."

"It has everything to with it. Hermione obviously wanted to reverse the spell after the war, but it was more difficult than we anticipated. Because of the infiltration of the Ministry, all our alliances with other ministries around the world had been severed. This meant we couldn't travel to those countries except in emergencies. Hermione's case wasn't deemed an emergency so she couldn't go to Australia to track down her parents."

Draco would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't slightly intrigued. Six years tucked away from all talk of the magical world had been his choice, and yet something familiar tugged at his gut as Potter wittered on.

"It took two years for us rebuild most of our alliances, so then Hermione travelled to Australia and it took about six months for her to find her parents. She tried a few of the usual counter-charms for memory loss, but they didn't work, so she came home and started to work on spells and potions to reverse the effects. Eventually, she invented a spell that she was certain would be successful in restoring all their memories involving the wizarding world and, therefore, restore their memories of her."

"Right," mumbled Draco uncertainly. "So?"

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "I went with her, and things didn't go as planned. You see, she...Well, there was..."

"Just spit it out, Potter!"

"She missed!" blurted Harry. "We went to her parents' house and stunned them and...I don't know how it happened, whether she slipped or something, but she cast the spell and it was headed straight for me, so I...I deflected it…It was instinct."

Draco nodded his head with smug understanding. "So you deflected the spell, and it hit Granger."

"Yes."

"And because the purpose of Granger's spell was to bring back memories of the wizarding world, when you deflected it, it had the opposite effect, and that's why she doesn't remember anything magical."

The collar of Harry's shirt was damp with sweat now. "Yes."

"So this was all your fault? You're the reason Granger has no memory."

"It was an accident-"

"An accident you caused, Potter," interrupted Draco, unable to resist the dig. "No wonder you look so guilty."

"It was an _accident_," repeated Harry. "But it meant...it meant that we had to take her parents into consideration when were making preparations for her."

"What do you mean?"

"When she woke up from her coma, we had no choice but to tell her that her parents had died in an accident when she was eighteen."

Draco felt his jaw fall an inch. Never could he have predicted that Potter, of all people, would say something that would irk _his _moral conscience. "Jesus Fucking Christ," he mumbled. "You have got to be joking. Surely you, Saint Potter, could not stoop-"

"We had no alternative," defended Harry. "What was I supposed to do? Tell her that her parents had conveniently lost their memories as well? Or just say that her parents had no interest in speaking to her at all? What the hell would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have gotten myself into this monumental cock up in the first place-

"_It was an accident."_

"That doesn't excuse all the other messed up shit you've done since."

Harry exhaled harshly through his nostrils. "I don't need to justify my decisions to somebody like you."

Draco bristled and bore his eyes into the other man. "Somebody like me? A Slytherin, you mean? Or just this Slytherin who admittedly screwed up a fair few times when he was a teen, but has managed to avoid completely screwing up his supposed best friend's life beyond comprehension?"

Harry waited a moment before he mumbled, "You are not an innocent, Malfoy."

"Neither are you, Potter. But one of us can't show his face in Wizarding London without receiving a barrage of abuse, while the other works high up in the Ministry and is blindly adored by the population."

"I am not to blame for the way people feel about you, Malfoy."

Draco snorted. "Aren't you?"

Sighing, Harry sat up in his chair and seemed to compose himself. "I've told you the options, Malfoy. The decision is yours."

"And what's to stop me going to the press about this?" Draco snapped defensively. "You have me relocated if I refuse, but then I go to the press and tell them about Granger so all your hard work is for nothing anyway. Or do you plan on fucking up my memory, too?"

"I thought about it," admitted Harry bluntly. "But, no. Felicity knows I've contacted or researched you on some level and if you suddenly lost your memory, it wouldn't take long for her to make a connection. To save you exposing Hermione, I would ask for Felicity to increase scrutiny on you and, if necessary, have you…imprisoned should you give any indication of going to the press."

Draco clenched his fist until his knuckles were white. He should have assumed Potter would have considered that possibility; he wasn't stupid, despite all his actions to the contrary.

"This isn't personal, Malfoy," said Harry sullenly. "I need to keep her safe and that means keeping her condition a secret. Surely even you can understand that-"

"Don't make yourself sound like such a martyr, Potter. You are blackmailing me into this. You are completely screwing me over and I don't know if it's because we despised each other at Hogwarts-"

"I did not come here to revisit old issues with you. I came here to explain Hermione's situation and offer you the chance to remain in your home in return for keeping an eye on her."

"Don't make it sound like you're doing me a favour, Potter."

"I'm trying to make it more of an agreement that could benefit us both. I've told you my conditions and I will not waver on them. Either you take my offer, or I will put in an immediate notice to Felicity that you are to be relocated."

Draco paused and tapped his glass with his nail, concentrating on the prolonged _ding_ that vibrated around the room. "And you want my answer this second?"

"You can sleep on it," said Harry, rising from his seat. "I'll return tomorrow evening to have your answer."

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry made a desperate break for the door, like the room itself was suffocating him. Draco called his name just before he could grab the handle, and Harry reluctantly turned around.

"I would want an Unbreakable Vow," stated Draco, enunciating each syllable. "An assurance that you would indeed cut my sentence short and relieve me of any obligation after a year. In return, I would vow to contact you should I believe Granger's safety is compromised. Just as an extra…insurance."

"Unbreakable Vows are illegal, Malfoy."

"I think that ship has pretty much sailed as far as you're concerned, Saint Potter."

With a final, heavy sigh, Harry slowly bobbed his head once. "Fine, I will agree to an Unbreakable Vow. So you'll do it?"

Draco flicked his glass again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening, Potter."

Harry hovered by the door, waiting for a confirmation or rejection to his offer, but when he realised he was going to receive neither he left the room. Draco waited for the closing click of his front door before he backhanded his glass off the table with enough force for it to collide with the wall and shatter into a sparkling spray of glass. A long, laboured breath trembled its way out of his lungs as he collapsed his body forward, grasping his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His fingernails dug into his hairline and his teeth grinded together.

The last time he had felt so buried beneath a situation he couldn't handle had been back when he was sixteen and Voldemort had branded his arm with a one-way ticket to destruction. Admittedly, comparing Potter to Voldemort was perhaps a tad extreme, yet the heaviness in Draco's stomach had the same gravity as it had all those years ago.

He felt trapped. Backed into a corner.

There were only two options and neither was fair nor desirable.

But if he was honest with himself, he had made a decision. And as much as he detested that decision, it had settled steadfastly in his head and fixed itself there like an unwelcome tumour.

He glanced at the sprinkling of broken glass winking up at him from the floor. With a final resigned sigh, he rose from his seat and made his way to bed.

The broken glass could wait until tomorrow.

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A/n: I know, I'm shit. I'm sorry, I really am working my arse off to get this done as quickly as possible whilst also trying to not be responsible for my classes all failing their exams…

I hope you like the chapter! It had a lot more dialogue than I planned but hopefully it's okay! Let me know your thoughts please!

Bex


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